The Wanderer of the North

by Alaxsxaq

1. The Exilarch: Part 3. Innocence Lost

In the months to follow, the promised lessons would come to fruition. As Spring turned to Summer, and the days became warmer and longer, less work was needed in the fields. From the time she could walk and toil on the farm, Nikóleva would labor in the Spring but rest and play during summertime before harvest in Autumn. But now she was not permitted to remain idle. Always was there work to do, from repairing the homestead to fashioning tools that perpetually seemed to break when most inconvenient.

Nikóleva was still too small to fell trees, but in time her father hoped she could cut down a tree in a few blows from an axe, as he could. Instead, the pink-maned filly diligently planed and sawed before daintily hammering nails into the lumber. The first object she managed to create was a tiny table, which she placed beside her bed. She'd never forget the heartfelt hug she was given by her dear father upon completion. That feeling of making Maiëlindir proud was worth more than any material possession ever could to her.

Thatching, boarding, feeding the cows; they all became part of Nikóleva's daily routine. She was even taught how to make charcoal for her father's smithery. That forge was to be her favorite place to go on the farm. Long hours she watched her father pound various metals with his mighty hammer, brandishing embers with each hit.

Fire caught her attention most of all. The brilliant reds and oranges and yellows of flame were a subdued yet vibrant beauty. Not for its destructive power; for the light and warmth it gave. The magnificence of the Sun shone upon the Earth, giving life and heat to her. Maiëlindir once told her Fire was a gift from on High, but was to be used responsibly. With such flame, metal could be purified and the frightful darkness of night banished away. If mistreated, however, it could consume all in its path.

The forge embodied this quality. Maiëlindir kept several barrels of water nearby, for quenching of course but also in case the fire became too unruly. Thankfully the latter was never the case.

Pulling on the bellow chains, the tall blue stallion turned the coals white-hot. Soon the shaft of iron turned in kind. He took the bar in his magic and levitated it upon the anvil. Here's where Nikóleva noticed a peculiarity: he then placed a rag on the bar and held it down with a hoof.

The filly understood that most ponies, whom she hadn't seen before, did not have magic. Though still too young to use it herself, Nikóleva thought it was a great advantage. The hammer though was reserved for his right hoof. Why did her father elect to use his crude legs in this craft?

Maiëlindir raised his hammer, and with immense force pound down the bar, flattening it somewhat. A second hit flattened even more. A third, then fourth. Each successive hit caused a loud "Clank" as flakes of iron shook off. After a few more pounds, the hot iron cooled down, and he returned it to the fire. The process was repeated until a discernible object came into existence: a sickle blade for reaping. Nikóleva had fashioned the hilt earlier that day.

The stallion turned to his daughter, who was holding the wooden hilt.

He carefully gave the blade to her, "Now, secure it to the hilt." The filly did just that. Holding down the blade by its dull convex side, she took a mallet and moved the hilt around the iron tang. Then, using two pins, she fastened the blade forever within its resting place. Smiling at a job well done, Nikóleva gave the sickle back to her father.

Maiëlindir took a moment to inspect the tool, "Excellent job. Why the hilt fits seamlessly! I'll make a carpenter out of you yet, Nikóleva." He then placed the sickle on a rack.

Taking a shorter bar of iron out now, he prepared to begin a new tool. Nikóleva looked eagerly at the furnace, awaiting more elegant crafting. But Maiëlindir got a sly grin and hooved his hammer to the filly.

"I've been watching you all this time. How would you enjoy making the next one?" Her smile reached from ear to ear, "I'll need a chisel, and I think this is a good place to start."

Nikóleva almost instinctively moved a small box to the front of the furnace. Hopping on top of it, she tried to lift the hammer. She managed to get it on the stone edge before the fire.

"Papa, the hammer is too heavy," she whined, thoroughly embarrassed.

"Here," he took the hammer and brought Nikóleva's own hooves to its handle. Now they were both carrying the tool, "As you do this more, you'll become better at it."

However Nikóleva objected, remarking on a thought she had earlier, "But Papa, why not just wait until my magic comes?"

Softly chuckling, the old stallion replied, "Magic is wonderful for many things, but its power cannot match that of your legs. It is for this reason ponies who've neither wings nor horns are the finest smiths in the land."

"Surely they cannot be more talented than you!"

"No matter how good you get at something, Nikóleva, remember: you can always improve. Now, are we ready to start?"

The white filly nodded. So began the forging. Her father's guiding hooves led the hammer down onto the bar, shaping it into a flattened wedge. By the time it was adequately crafted, Nikóleva was given the honor of quenching it, steam billowing from the barrel. This tiny, insignificant chisel would likely be broken soon, relative to the life of an alicorn. Many would be made to replace it, as this one was created to.

But this hour or so resonated for centuries with the mare this filly was to become. In the time she knew her father, his seemingly limitless set of skills and talents captivated her. Her whole life was to be an attempt to live up to his virtues and the prayers and lessons he taught her. And while nopony is without flaw, Nikóleva would indeed work to better herself, as Maiëlindir had. As he felt all should do.

Patting down his apron of all the dirt and grime, the midnight stallion put out the forge's fire. Yawning, he hung up the apron and tools.

"In Winter I think we'll spend much time here. It'll be quite warm by the fire."

"Papa, what shall we make tomorrow?" she asked, giddy with anticipation.

He furrowed his brow and thought for a second, "Actually, we'll forge a sword for you. Then, I'll show you how to use it. Yes?"

"Yes, Father!" she exclaimed, bouncing up and down all the way back to the hovel.

Laid to bed, the small pink-maned alicorn fell asleep to pleasant dreams. Tomorrow would be a good day, she thought.

Maiëlindir sat beside her bed until that time, and kissed her softly. Quietly tip-toeing to the crib, he gave the same gesture of love to his foal, nearly crying at the innocent smile the blue infant grew. Closing the door, he approached the fireplace and gazed into its glowing flickers.

"If Taberanyn shall grow as her sister, then I've naught to fear for my Line."

The next day smoke again erupted from the forge's chimney. While Henarion was busy tending to the foal and doing less intensive but important tasks, the Father and his beloved daughter were occupied with alloying iron bars. Yesterday simple black wrought iron was enough. Yet a sword required a better material.

Steel.

Steel was an uncommon substance in this day and age. Only the finest of tools and weapons were allowed the honor of being forged in that alloy. But it was said the Alicorns of Past Glory, so Maiëlindir had been told, smelted steel of luster and strength such as never could be again. His beautiful sword was bladed with metal so skillfully crafted that it would never dull nor rust.

Eventually, this blade of the Sun and Moon would be Nikóleva's. But for now a simple, earthly sword will do.

Steelmaking was a laborious and time consuming process, one that the stallion personally didn't care for. Long hours he spent heating, and reheating, and pounding off the slag from the ore. The small filly was perpetually fetching charcoal to feed the bloomery, wearing herself ragged. But after what seemed like an eternity, Maiëlindir pulled the steel from the fire with his tongs, and began the actual forging.

It must have been at least sixty years ago when the alicorn learned how to properly smith blades from a like-aged earth pony. And owing to the everlasting quality of his own sword, this skill was seldom used. Nevertheless, he recalled with impeccable accuracy all the steps and methods. Still guiding his daughter's hoof, they struck the metal fervently, elongating and flattening the steel.

Days passed by, and in the height of summer, the sword was finally finished. The metal shone brilliantly, and its edges were sharp enough to slice a dropped hair. Hilted superbly by Nikóleva, the blade was just the right size for the filly. In truth, it was but a dagger. It would satisfy her father's purposes for now, though.

Proud of their product, Maiëlindir swung the dagger a few times, rechecking the balance.

"Excellent. Right at the crossguard," he sheathed the "sword" in its scabbard, which Nikóleva had made whilst the steel was being smelted.

The sowing season was already over. Thus, the two had been laboring through the entire day. Though there was still quite a few hours of daylight left. Maiëlindir levitated the scabbard to his daughter, and she girt it around her waist. She then tightened the strap, lest it chafe.

As she drew the blade with her hoof, her giant of a father leaned down and visibly scolded the pony, "Remember: this is a weapon, not a toy. If you’re not careful, it will cut you or those around you. We made it to cleave through bone." Nikóleva, feeling rather frightened, resheathed the blade.

"Now, I promised you that I would teach you to use it. Midday has not yet come. Are you ready?"

Nikóleva nodded fiercely, smiling wider than ever.

So began another journey. Further northeast was a site Maiëlindir had traveled to in his youth. It was actually not far from his homestead, but the mere sight of this place was enough for heartache. As it was for all alicorns.

A trek of a couple hours was their lot. Following an old paved road, Nikóleva remarked the condition this highway of ancient days was in. Much of it was cracked and overgrown with foliage. Every few miles or so, ruined blocks of stone sat beside the road, indicating some relic of civilization that must've existed out here. Her father told her stories of bustling places of settlement far to the South, and she wondered if ever those were once here. She liked to imagine ponies running to and fro across this road, when it was still new and unspoiled.

A few hours past noon, the two arrived to a series of rolling green hills dotted with evergreens and dense brush. Just over the hill the highway cut through, Nikóleva laid eyes upon a strange spot. Her emotions were mixed, and the filly didn't quite know how to feel.

There, interrupted by splotches of green plants, were the foundations of an ancient city. From her vista atop this hill, she discerned a gigantic depression through the middle of its stony ground. Along either side of this gully were clear stone edges and even steps, indicating the city was raised, or the ground was already low.

She pointed to this massive, snaking ditch, "What is that, Papa?"

He sighed, dreading to recount the tale, "That was once a mighty river. This…this once glorious city took its life from that river. You remember the stream by our home, yes?"

Nikóleva nodded. "This river was many times wider and deeper than it. Now the river is but a memory I'm sure only the very oldest can recall."

"What happened here?" she asked, ears drooped and mood saddened.

"When our ancestors dwelt here―and they did, this city was more wonderful than any I have ever seen southwards. It was called Nairverulin, for great Kings reigned here in its mighty fortress. For many, many years their people...we...prospered. Within the marble walls and behind steel gates, no mortal thing could penetrate. But, by means nopony truly knows, the city fell."

"What ponies could have done this? Why would anypony ever destroy something so pretty and grand?" Nikóleva asked, a faint tear streaming down her cheek.

"Only Lórian knows their hearts; what black intentions they held. Ponies and other creatures all had a part in its demise. Over eight centuries ago, they laid siege, and defeated the last King. Everypony tried to flee, the unlucky slaughtered. Everything of value was looted and carried away. They tore down all the buildings and walls, and razed the royal fortress. All the rubble filled the river, and soon it stopped flowing. It has since changed paths, never to flow through this ruin." Nikóleva took note of the somber expression her father wore. Seldom did she ever see it.

"And so, those of our kind that escaped were hunted down, as we had been for so long before. Now nopony lives in this land, except for scattered bands of Alícëai, such as us," Maiëlindir scanned the ruins and spotted a single structure still erect.

Nikóleva's tears were alleviated by what he had to say next. "But...," he began, "For all the destruction and cruelty the Invaders committed...they still dared not touch that building." The stallion stuck out a hoof, gesturing towards a distant and hard-to-spot structure, "And so long as it stands, we must have hope."

For a few seconds, Nikóleva struggled to locate whatever her father was speaking of. But within this vast white stony ruin stood a marble-wrought building adorned with sky-reaching steeples. She noticed just as Maiëlindir was setting out for the edifice.

As she stepped inside borders of the city, the true desolation and bleakness of the Royal Fortress of the North made itself painfully apparent. Whatever grandeur once aboded here was long gone. Crumbled piles of stone no doubt left architects from ancient days heartbroken. The wisdom that constructed this citadel retreated to the anonymity of time, ensuring such a place could never rise again.

But a few piles of ruined rocks and a silted river were not the only reminders of a past calamity. Indeed, much to Nikóleva's discomfort, bones rested along the paved streets and leveled foundations. Bones of not only killed ponies, but other creatures as well. Most of the bones did not belong to a coherent skeleton, most of them disgracefully carried off by wild beasts.

However most of the scarce skeletons that remained wore armor and wielded weapons. While of course the best swords and axes and maces were plundered by raiders, some retained their spears and daggers. One body especially stood out. By the horn jutting from its skull and the hoofless limbs attached to its back, with almost all degrees of certainty this...pony had been an alicorn once. Whether this pony used to be a stallion or mare was unclear, and their name was now only known to whomever carried off their soul in death.

Clad in glimmering steel armor golden-gilded and embossed with strange symbols, Nikóleva would come to understand this skeleton belonged to a very great warrior. A long sword sat beside this pony, one of almost equal beauty to Maiëlindir's, if vastly in inferior quality. Leaning up against a pillar that might have supported an aqueduct before it was razed, the alicorn's eyeless gaze spread to a ring of other skeletons.

These bones did not all belong to ponies. Some had short snouts and strange, small bones coming from their forelegs. Of the rib cages that remained, most suffered some sort of impalement. Some skulls looked cleaved from their bodies.

Nikóleva was frightened, and scurried atop her father's back. Nuzzling against his neck, she cowered at the macabre tone of this place.

"Papa...I do not like this city...," She muttered, muffled in his fur.

"You mustn't worry. There's no life here anymore; nothing can hurt us. Their spirits are long gone," he said calmly, arriving at the great lone building, "Pray for them, Nikóleva, that they may find rest." He turned his head to make eye contact with the trembling filly, "Fear not, for to this temple harm cannot come."

Effectively a great mountain casting a dark shadow across the ruins, this temple stood taller than the giant trees of the forest. It had been built upon a large hill just before the now-defunct riverbank. For a thousand years or many more, pilgrims from all corners of the world flocked here to experience a mere glimpse of its splendor. The Alicorn Kings dedicated giant amounts of time and resources to ensure this temple would delight Whom it was construction to.

Either viewed as an earthly abode fit for a god or the physical embodiment of decadence and state cultism, none could have denied the sheer architectural marvel that it was. No larger building so dedicated had been built in all of history...well, besides the pulverized remains of another upon a drowned Isle beneath the Ocean.

Large though this building was, the vast expanse of the city's foundations dwarfed the temple. Additionally, the marble walls blended perfectly with the rest of the city, leaving it camouflaged. But now brought to her attention, Nikóleva gave a sigh of relief. At least there was something not entirely destitute in this place. A bit hesitantly, she hopped of her father's back. Standing in awe at what lay before her, she stared at the immense construct and marveled at the beauty of its design.

The gigantic entry point was center-pieced by two massive steel frames attached to the marble threshold. The wooden doors that these fittings held in place had rotted quickly in this wet climate. Yet the frame was not rusted, a consequence of its skillful manufacture. And even though the doors were no more, the fittings were still closed as if the wood remained.

Maiëlindir carefully crept over the frame, there being a gap adequate for passage of a stallion twice his own size. Nikóleva followed suit. Massive vaulted ceilings awaited the pair, and at the far end was a large altar. But the entire expanse from the entrance to the altar was bare; empty.

Holes had been bored into the walls, likely where candelabras and other fixtures once hung. The marble floor did not shine anymore, scuffed by countless hooves and paws throughout the centuries. Flanking the interior were a series of great stained-glass windows, each meticulously fired and placed. Outlined in iron and highlighted by colorful glass panes was a precious mural of historical events, brilliantly preserved.

Each side mirrored the other, so everypony could always "read" the story they told. Closest to the entrance was the image of a regal-looking white alicorn, his mane a fiery red. Behind him were other alicorns, all bowing before Tulicëai. In the next, the smaller ponies in turn bowed to the white alicorn, offering him a golden crown. His expression was one of refusal, his head facing the other direction. The third depicted that alicorn now crowned and seated upon a throne, bearing a sword and scepter. The fourth a white castle, almost certainly an image of this city in its age of glory. And the fifth was a group of all pony races, even a strange striped one. All of them were celebrating and looking up at the heavens, a great yellow light shining upon them.

Simply amazed, Nikóleva couldn't believe this temple was built so empty and devoid of anything but the windows and altar.

"Why does this building still stand? And why is it so barren? If nopony may harm this temple, why did they not hide everything in here?" she asked, tugging on her father's cloak.

Maiëlindir paused his trek, and turned to face the filly, "The Kings declared that in all times of war not a single stone be hewed from this shrine. I know not what riches rested here; what mountains of gold supposed ponies of God held in Its stead. But Lórian cares not for material things. That wealth was entirely plundered and carried away, but not a stone of the temple was touched. For Lórian will not have Its own house desecrated, and for this reason the Invaders would not raze it to the ground. Unlike the rest of the city."

He gestured for his daughter to approach the centerpiece of the edifice,"I'm to believe they pried off every bit of gold and jewelry from this altar, but it could not be torn down. They feared the Wrath Divine more than they craved destruction." Indeed, the altar was naked and plain. It was a simple marble block topped with just a metal pole bearing a familiar symbol. Across the sides of the altar a carved relief depicted events important to Ancient Equestria.

Behind the altar was a large multi-tiered altarpiece, so too carved with images of heroes and ponies of reverence. It was beautiful and glorious to behold, its depictions too varied and wonderful to describe justly. So great was its splendor that Nikóleva couldn't help but become saddened. What other priceless pieces of art were lost when this city fell?

But what caught her attention most was the metal symbol suspended by that pole. Likely gilded before, it was now a muted silvery color in great need of a polish. The symbol itself was identical to the pendant Nikóleva wore around her neck. She brought the pendant to view, and compared the two. The young alicorn smiled and kissed the piece, a gift from her dear father she would treasure until the end of her days.

After some moments of silence spent honoring the mighty temple, Maiëlindir turned around and started back to the "doors".

"We've stayed here long enough. The daylight hours are passing now. Come."

But Nikóleva was hesitant, "But Papa...may you train me in here?" she requested, feeling safest in the building.

"No weapons must be drawn within these walls, for this is a place of peace. We cannot disrespect those wishes."

Nikóleva immediately relented, trusting in her father. Following him outside, she recoiled a bit at the brightness of the Sun. Maiëlindir found a nice spot, an open space relatively clear of debris. Now the two stood opposite about ten paces away from each other. The blue alicorn drew his blade, and nodded for Nikóleva to do the same.

"I brought you here so you might appreciate the great ruin that inhabitants of this world can wreak. When I was your age, I too had to learn to fight. Blessed Nikóleva, I pray that you will never have need of violence, but as an alicorn, you must be ready for when it comes. I would never ask anything of you that I felt was not within your capacity. Therefore, I ask: Nikóleva of my own House, will you invest in this art?" Maiëlindir asked his daughter in a strangely rehearsed manner, as if this speech were pre-composed.

The white filly nodded, "Yes, Father. I hope to make you proud."

"You cannot do otherwise." he then held up the blade to his face in a beginning stance, "When you have magic, it can be useful whilst wielding a sword. But still the best means is with a hoof. Same as the hammer. The sword...or in your case dagger is an extension of you, and therefore must be as graceful and surehooved. Never cease moving, and always move to kill."

Maiëlindir then proceeded to give Nikóleva a demonstration of proper swordsponyship, elegantly swerving and thrusting his blade about while consciously moving around the "arena". His actions were quick and deliberate, signifying his many years of experience. True, the use of a sword wasn't so much a skill as an art.

When he had finished, Nikóleva frowned and tried to imitate his "dance", tripping over herself very early on. Her dagger clanged onto the ground, and she started to sob. Maiëlindir however levitated her up and dusted off that snowy coat.

"I'll never be as talented as you, Papa...," she pouted, suspended in his magical embrace. He merely chuckled and gave her dagger back.

"Well I've been practicing for over a hundred years," he laughed and placed her back on the ground, "And there are still ponies better than me. But we shall begin with....simpler exercises. First, let's practice on proper swinging..."

The remainder of the day was spent on these preliminary sets. The two departed the ruins with just enough time to make it home when the sun was setting, and during that time Nikóleva made substantial progress. She came from a long line of warriors, and no doubt that propensity had been inherited by the filly. Even so, she still had quite a ways to go before she could be considered "battle-ready".

Unfortunately, Maiëlindir would soon discover these efforts were made too late.

As the Sun's light broke through the evergreen trees and dew glistened across grass blades in the cool morning, a blue stallion shuffled uneasily in his sleep. For that night a dream had come to him, soon mutating into a feverish nightmare. All around him was blackness and the sound of screams. Streaks of dark crimson flashed around, consuming vague shapes in terrifying orange glowing lights. But in the shadow, a brilliant silver star emerged, and banished the flashes and unsightly red lights. And the screams were heard no more.

Nonetheless, that show of force caused the star to dim until it faded away. Shaken from his slumber, the stallion awoke to find it was just a dream. A terrible dream. Heaving in a cold sweat, he looked out the window to see the first rays of the Sun emerge across the treetops. Crawling out of bed, he rubbed his eyes and proceeded to mentally list out today's chores.

A few crafts and metalworking before continuing Nikóleva's lessons. She performed admirably yesterday...well, best as her father expected for the first session. And of course milking the cows and feeding his infant daughter. Some dead trees also needed to be felled. Ever since Henarion suffered his injury some two decades ago, that stallion was confined to mainly interior duties. Maiëlindir therefore spent long hours doing the most toilsome work.

Though he always tried to encourage diligence in his eldest daughter, there were times the old alicorn felt tired. Weary of the world, in fact. And the earth's troubles would not leave him be this day.

For eyes were watching even in these waking hours.

Nestled within a bush a hundred or so feet from the hovel, a few creatures examine the homestead, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. What riches awaited out here? How well were they defended? And by whom?

In truth, these raiders knew that not much of value existed in these sparsely populated wild forests. But whatever they could plunder would serve them well. And secondarily for every successful attack, an alicorn or two died.

One of the raiders smiled deviously, seeing fields ripe to burn and a storehouse probably filled with food and supplies. He drew his sword, and turned to face his subordinates.

"Alright, we attack now. Kill all adults and take any children. Ready?" he commanded in a raspy and detestable voice.

The other dozen or so raiders nodded, drawing their own weapons. Prepared to pounce, the party rushed out from the bushes, yelling and screaming battle cries. Their leader was laughing maniacally, delighting in violence and bloodshed.

Maiëlindir's keen hearing picked up the noise, and he glance out of a nearby window. What was charging towards the home horrified him. Some were grey, some brown or tan. Their faces were ugly and short-snouted, with a strong under-bite. Sickly eyes narrowed in view of their target, and long teeth poked out from putrid lips. Hunched in poor posture, these creatures had small walking legs and club-like tails, while their forelegs were disproportionately massive, ending in meaty paws tipped with sharp nails. Each one wore a simple vest and a collar. The leader was clearly the creature with the most ornate collar, being studded with jewels.

The alicorn's expression turned to fear. "Diamond Dogs..."

Wielding any and all types of weapons, their intent was clear. Maiëlindir quickly grabbed his scabbard and girt the weapon across his waist. Running out into the field, he stood imposingly before these raiders. Defiant and confident, he spoke.

"I shall tell you once: leave now and you all may live." The leader just laughed, taking a fighting stance. "I know you raiders too well," the alicorn then drew his sword, and upon waving it towards the party, it glowed a vibrant silver; this was no ordinary blade.

The head diamond dog was taken aback while terror overtook his underlings. A few were muttering to themselves, rethinking their next actions.

"It can't be...Maelin!" said one diamond dog, "My father told me tales about him. He killed the High Chieftain, and not an army of one-hundred could stop him. He said the Maelinblade glowed whenever the stallion wielded it."

"We should turn back!" cried another.

But the leader lashed out at them, "Fools! Maelin is but mortal, and he bleeds like the rest of us! Have you forgotten who leads you?!" he boasted, "Behold, Warrior of the North! I am Wolfang, Chief of Diamond Dogs and Vanquisher of Countless Alicorns! I shall add your head to my collection!"

But Maiëlindir was steadfast. The leader ordered a rather brutish raider to challenge the stallion to a duel, as honor dictated. The oaf swung his mighty club, which Maiëlindir easily dodged. Then the alicorn stomped his head with a powerful forehoof, cracking the skull. Finally, the "Maelinblade" was thrust down at the base of the spine, killing the dog instantly. The stallion pulled the sword out, its cold steel now bathed in sanguine.

At this time, the clamor reached the ears of the other inhabitants of the house. Nikóleva rushed outside, having seen the first minutes of the fight. "Papa! Papa!" she cried.

"Stay inside!" Maiëlindir commanded with a booming voice. The tone was enough to terrify the filly and compel her to obey, "I'll be fine!" He reassured. As soon as he finished speaking, he thrust the sword backwards, impaling one of the dogs rushing to battle him.

Swinging through the rib cage, Maiëlindir then cleaved off the armed foreleg of another raider, and lightning quick he swung a second time, decapitating both in deadly gracefulness.

True to his battle philosophy, his movements never ceased. The attackers could never hit him, while his strokes and stabs cut down several more. One withdrew a couple yards away and armed a bow. Noticing this, the alicorn unfurled his giant blue wings and flew into the sky, one of the few occasions he did so. The archer let loose an arrow and Maiëlindir batted it away with his sword. Jetting down to the dog, he chopped through the mongrel's skull, and saw another one running away.

None were to be left alive. Swinging the blade from the head, he used his magic to throw the sword through the runner's heart, and he fell seconds later. Magically retrieving the sword, he readied for more carnage. A foolish dog rushed him, axe raised to bring down on the stallion. Maiëlindir smiled and knocked the hilt into the dog's snout. He then plunged the blade into the raider's abdomen and sliced upwards. The diamond dog's entrails flowed out, and he fell back dead.

Meanwhile, Nikóleva looked on in horror at the battle. Never before had she seen so much blood. She wasn't quite repulsed or made sick at the sight, but still a feeling of uneasiness struck her. Maiëlindir was a kind, courageous, and virtuous soul. None knew that better than his own daughter. But the stallion made no effort to shelter or censor the harsh realities of the world. She was well aware of mortality; her mother still a fresh memory. But this morning was different.

Her father's greatest fear was realized: Nikóleva's innocence had been lost.

Yet despite all the ongoing bloodshed and body mutilations, her greatest concern was for her father's safety. Now surrounded, the stallion was charged by a couple more diamond dogs. This should not have caused him much trouble. Yet for all his skill and speed, something went wrong. A split second delay in reaction, a slip on the ground, a twinge of pain in his leg; something caused his movements to become de-synchronized. And he would pay dearly for it.

Distracted by the incoming dogs, Maiëlindir did not notice Wolfang creep up with his own sword. At least at first. The realization came the moment the Chieftain cut across the stallion’s chest, making a small but concerning wound.

Henarion, now armed adequately, ran out whilst bearing his leg pain and engaged a couple outlying dogs, who were watching the struggle. He arrived just in time to witness Maiëlindir's injury. The orange alicorn killed those onlookers rather easily, and the blue stallion repeated the actions on his own combatants. But the wound had upset his flow; his rhythm was thrown off.

While the two alicorns were finishing off those dogs, a rear one strung a bow. By some cruel act of fate, the diamond dog's aim was true. An iron-tipped arrow bored itself within Maiëlindir's knee, compelling the stallion to kneel. Cringing ferociously, he summoned his magic to pry the arrow out. Henarion managed to violently kill the archer, slicing his torso in half from the right shoulder to his left abdomen. But the orange pony couldn't react quickly enough for what came next.

As Maiëlindir was writhing in pain, Wolfang ran up behind the alicorn and readied his sword. Seeing the target in his grotesque yellow eyes, the mongrel thrust his blade between Maiëlindir's wings. The cold steel sliced through the veins of his lung, and the stabbed stallion coughed up blood. Wolfang retracted the sword, and let the bleeding pony fall onto his back.

A source of regret for many years to come, Henarion could not believe he let his best friend be mortally injured. And worse yet, he allowed himself to stand idly by in shock, rather than retaliate. The Chief was the only diamond dog left alive, and Henarion just stood there, motionless. Of all the ponies to avenge the Exilarch, it was his own daughter.

White Nikóleva ran out with her dagger, wearing a frenzied visage, "Get away from my Father!"

She darted to the dog and lunged forward, driving the dagger into the creature's foot. Letting out an ear-piercing scream, the mongrel then struck Nikóleva across the face with his massive paw. Now crying tears, the filly was helpless as Wolfang picked her up by the nape.

"Such an adorable filly. I'm sure she'll fetch a nice price from slavers," he smiled a disgusting yellow grin, licking his lips, "Though, I might just keep her for myself."

But this taunting would be the death knell of the diamond dog. Enraged with righteous paternal wrath, Maiëlindir summoned all the fading strength he could and reached for his sword. Again glowing bright, the blade was thrust deep into the dog's heart.

"You will not touch her," He then swung the sword up to the neck, spraying a trail of blood across the grass. The dog soon fell over, a lifeless corpse. Nikóleva was dropped to the ground, and rushed to her father in gratitude.

But sorrowfully, the stallion's energy was draining fast. Henarion sheathed his sword and ran to his friend, tears beginning to stream from his eyes, "Maiëlindir! Hold on! I'll preform a spell―"

"No magic can me save now, Henarion...," the stallion turned his head and coughed up more blood. He then smiled and caressed a hoof down Nikóleva's face.

"I'm...sorry...I have failed you. I have let your bloodline come to ruin!" Henarion was now beginning to sob.

"No you have not. Nikóleva and Taberanyn remain safe. I have done my duty: I am survived by my beloved daughters," he was now stroking his eldest filly's beautiful pink mane.

But Nikóleva grabbed his hoof and cried, "What do you mean, Papa?" she shook her head in denial. "No! Henarion! Please help me carry Papa to bed! I cannot lift him myself!" she was now vainly nudging her father from the ground.

"I'm afraid I shall leave soon, Nikóleva. I'll see your Mother," tears now came from his eyes, heartbroken for his daughter.

"Mama? May I come too! I wish to see Mama!" she yelled, her father's blood now staining her pristine coat.

"Your place is still here. You've your sister to take care of."

Nikóleva's sobbing only intensified, "But Papa...who will teach me how to use a sword? Who will teach little Taby?" the filly threw herself at him and slung her forelegs around his neck, "Oh Papa!"

"Shhhh...shhhh...it will be alright. You must promise me something, though. Can you do this?" she weakly nodded, "Promise me...you will never let...any...thing happen to your sister..."

"Yes, Papa." she agreed, realizing her father's breaths were becoming quicker.

Already his vision was fading, but he used whatever strength was left to grab his sword and resheath it. Ungirting the blade, he passed it on to his daughter, "This is Eónadin. Your grandfather gave it to me before he died. And now it belongs to you. It has great power, and all your enemies will recoil at its brilliance."

Henarion took the sword in his magic and set it upon the wet ground to allow Nikóleva freedom of movement. She hugged her father even tighter and kissed him on the cheek, an action he could not reciprocate, "I love you Papa! Greet Mama for me."

Maiëlindir could hardly contain his tears, "Of course. I love you very much, Nikóleva. And you, Henarion, have been my Brother for many years. Do not lament my death; I've lived a long and fruitful life...," he glanced at the hovel however, "Yet I wish to have seen Taberanyn grow as you, Nikóleva. When she is older, please tell her I love her just the same. And her father's...on...ly...regret..."

The stallion could not finish, and his eyes closed for the last time. Blood was no longer flowing out, and his breathing ceased. His lifeless forelegs still clutched Nikóleva, and she still held onto him with all her might. Henarion uttered a prayer and leaned in to kiss his friend's forehead.

"So passes Maiëlindir Aracílnedalí nor-Solárindilbainuir, aged twenty-three and one-hundred years... May you and Her find Everlasting Union...," the orange alicorn then broke down into sobs. He held Nikóleva close, stroking her mane as the filly cried into his chest. They sat there in mourning for hours, rendered completely inconsolable.

Meanwhile, inside the hovel, a newborn foal cried loudly, unknowingly deprived of her father.

Every word was captured flawlessly, but this did not detract from the gravity they held. Twilight began to tear up herself, and had to make a conscious effort not to drip on the pages. But the task was done, the first part of this story completed. Drying the ink, Twilight set the tome aside, and looked at Celestia.

The alabaster mare was silently staring out the window, painfully recalling this traumatic event. As more and more of the images came to her, the more difficult it was to remain strong. A light trickle of tears streamed down her cheeks. Every now and then she thought about her father's death, but she restrained herself dwelling on the memory for very long. But this time she needed to.

And her twinge of sorrow grew into a heart-stabbing dagger, twisting itself within her chest. Turning back from the window, she tried to make her way to a pillow to rest on. But when she approached it, her tears turned into a cascade, and she collapsed on the pillow, sobbing uncontrollably.

Twilight could not stand this sight, and sat beside the Princess. Spreading a wing across the mare's back, Twilight gave an empathetic smile. Wiping her eyes, Celestia appreciated the gesture more than anything, and smiled back.

"Twilight, may we postpone the rest of the story for a later date? I think I'm a bit spent now." The lavender pony just nodded.

"Thank you," Celestia said, placing her foreleg around her student.

Outside the Royal Chamber, the two guards standing beside the door sniffled and tried their best to remain motionless. They had heard the whole tale, and were joined in on the tragedy. But Celestia's break down was what really hurt them.

Unfortunately for them, and Twilight, more tragedy and tears remained to be recollected.